“Want a leg up?” he asks.
No more stalling. I was hoping for another few minutes to prepare myself for this, but it doesn't look like I'll be getting that. I force my smile wider and nod, marching my way right over to him.
He pulls the stool that had been sitting by the hitch posts over until it's at Milky’s side. I'd almost expected him to actually lift me up onto the saddle, but this will probably be easier. It'll definitely be better for my sanity.
I climb up the steps until I can clamber into the saddle. It's about as awkward as I anticipated it would be, and I grip the horn like it's the only thing keeping me from falling straight to the ground. When Milky shifts her weight slightly, I let out what's probably an incredibly unattractive squeak and clutch tight to the saddle.
Everett stifles a chuckle with a cough, and I very kindly don't glare at him for it.
“Stirrups comfortable?” he asks.
He’s already guiding my foot into the stirrup, and I copy the placement on the other side. I don't know what they're supposed to feel like, and I'm absolutely terrified, so I just nod.
How the hell do kids do this? This is insane. I feel like I'm 20 feet tall, and I can feel Milky’s sides move with every breath she takes.
Everett checks a few straps on the saddle as I take deep breaths and try to convince myself that I'm not going to die. It's just a horse ride. The second he leaves Milky’s side to unhitchher and throw the twins over her neck, though, I second-guess that. I'll look like an idiot if I admit that I've never been on a horse, but it would be preferable to falling off and breaking my neck. I don't manage to work up the courage before he unhitches his own horse and hops up on her back like it's nothing.Showoff.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
He's grinning at me like he knows exactly hownotready to go I am, and I resist the urge to call him an asshole.
“When you are,” I say.
My voice is shaky and entirely unconvincing, but he doesn't call me out on it.
No, he just clicks his tongue, and both his horse and Milky start moving. I have a split-second to be grateful that Milky seems willing to follow his instructions, since I have no clue how to direct her. That gratitude evaporates the second she starts walking, though, because I can feel the slight adjustment of muscle in her body with every step she takes. My center of gravity shifts just slightly, back and forth in a gentle roll, and it's blindingly scary for the first few steps.
When I don't fall off, though, I start to relax a bit. It's kind of soothing once I manage to stop gripping onto Milky for dear life and really settle into the saddle.
“Oh,” I breathe out.
A smile steals over my face and I reach forward to rub my hand across the base of Milky’s neck. I didn't realize I would feel so… connected.
“She's got an easy gait.” He laughs when he sees the confusion on my face and clarifies, “How she walks. She’s smooth.”
He pulls back a bit so our horses are walking side--by--side on the path. The grass on either side of the road is tall enough to brush against my ankles in some spots, and there are clumps of wildflowers dotted through the fields.
It still smells like animals, but something about it feels so fresh.
By now, I can kind of understand why someone would choose to live like this. Sure, it's in the middle of nowhere and it’s half falling apart, but it's also breathtakingly beautiful. I'd miss the convenience of food delivery and good cell service out here, but I think I'd be able to get used to it for a view like this.
“Do you ride out here often?” I ask, my gaze fixed on the fields.
A few of the younger calves are playing around together, chasing each other through the grass and annoying their older siblings.
“Not as much as I used to,” Everett answers. “I rode out to watch the sunrise every day for years. Too busy nowadays.”
I can hear the longing in his voice, the ache of missing something that he could easily stop denying himself. Too busy more likely means too tired, and I've seen the way exhaustion lingers in the lines of his face. He's pushed himself past the point of being drained.
“The sunrise must be gorgeous from out here,” I muse.
It's not my place to poke at his personal issues. I've already overstepped the boundary of professionalism once, and I’m not going to do it again.
He hums in response, and we fall into comfortable silence for a long while.
It's calming. We just ride, the gentle sway of our horses beneath us as they plod over the dirt path. At some point, the river that runs through the property comes into view. It brings butterflies and chipmunks along with it, just close enough to stare curiously at us as we pass.
The ride is perfectly pleasant for an hour or so, and Everett and I occasionally trade a few comments and questions. I don't know if I'd count it as conversation, but at least it's not forced.
